


Fated Star, Golden Night

by TangentiaLives



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Courting Rituals, Dream Sharing, F/M, Feel-good, Halloween, Oh my god they were soul mates, Or should I say courting rituals gone awry, Romance, Samhain, Soul Bond, Teenage Drama, viktor tries so hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27392482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TangentiaLives/pseuds/TangentiaLives
Summary: A family ritual at Samhain connects Viktor and Hermione in their dreams.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Comments: 150
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mawkinberd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mawkinberd/gifts).



> This is a gift for two of my readers, Mawkinberd, and Hufflepuffhugs, who left the first reviews on Hunting Shadows. While it is not yet finished, I thought we could all use a little bit of something nice given how tense things are in the States at the moment. I've got a lot planned for this and it is Fun (I laughed a lot when outlining). Here's to hoping this fic cheers you all up a little!

**October 31, 1993**

The hat made him look stupid.

It was much too large, created for a distant ancestor who had long passed on, so it sank down all the way to his eyebrows no matter what he did. The felt material was worn thin by the centuries of wear it had endured, and Viktor half-wondered how it had lasted so long, even with reinforcement spells and longevity charms cast on it.

Regardless of its make and its historical importance to his family, Viktor hated the hat.

He did not, however, hate its significance.

"Are you ready?" Tseveta asked as she poked her head around the corner of the door. Her hair fell over her shoulders in long, thin braids capped with thin silver coins that had dark feathers dangling from them. Her eyes had been rimmed in black ink, and an iridescent mark flowed from both cheekbones down her neck and below the neckline of her dress. The marking, he knew, flowed down to the tips of her fingers, and when she held her mother's and aunt's hands the lines would connect seamlessly, a way to help connect the conduits of power.

He sighed and readjusted his hat, pushing it higher only for it to slip back down. "As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

Tseveta rolled her eyes. "Try to contain your excitement, _bratovched._ "

Tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves, he joined her at the doorway and they began their journey to the evening room, the largest room of the house that could hold the entire Krum family and its cadet branches. "I am excited," he hedged, "I'm just…"

Nervous? Unsure? A bit resentful of the entire ordeal? He was seventeen, for Merlin's sake. He'd barely come of age a bare two months earlier and now he was expected to do this ritual where he would find his _sŭdbonosna zvezda_ , his fated star so they would connect, at which point he'd be tied to her forever.

A fat lot of fun that would be. Why couldn't they just have regular Samhain rituals like all the other families? Why did he have to wear this stupid hat, and drink the stupid concotion, and have everyone do the stupid incantation while he walked the astral plane (which he had never been able to reach in his practices, but did anyone care? No.) to meet her wherever she was?

The echos of his complaints bounced around his head, and he winced at the discordant sounds, which really masked his true feelings. Truly, he was lucky this was happening to him.

He just wished he weren't so afraid.

The thought of the upcoming meeting, however it would take place - _wherever_ it would take place - made his stomach churn. This was it. The first time he would get to meet his soul mate, the one destined for him. His perfect match. After tonight, no matter what happened, they would be connected ever more.

Even if she didn't like him, even if she didn't want anything to do with him, he would be tied to her. No second chances. No second thoughts.

He thought of his parents, who had been matched but who lived with cold silences and even larger distances between them, and hoped he didn't mess this up. Surely, _surely_ he could make her like him. Surely she would be kind, and clever, and beautiful.

Surely he wouldn't be miserable.

"Vitya!" Hristofor, his uncle and head of the Savelev branch, called out to him as they entered the room, his booming voice jovial and his face slightly ruddy with drink. "Are you ready to meet your _sŭdbonosna zvezda_?"

If he wasn't ready to meet his fated star, the one the Seer foretold at his birth like she had foretold his father's, and _his_ father's before him, did it really matter? The wheels were in motion and had been since his birth. He was bound so much by the ropes of tradition and ritual that it was a wonder he could move at all.

Dutifully, he replied, "Yes, uncle, I am."

Hristofor, who had had a happy marriage his whole life long and never known a day of shuttered eyes and cutting voices, beamed at him. "Your life is about to change, my boy. She will be your beacon."

Vitkor hoped his doubts didn't show on his face and instead inclined his head, which made the damn hat almost fall off again.

Behind him, the quiet voice of his mother murmured a sticking charm, and the hat secured itself to his head as if it hadn't been torturing him for the past half hour.

Turning, he looked down at his mother as she stepped up next to him, her countenance calm and serene. "Vitya," she said, her tone warm as she touched his hand briefly. "Do not look so worried. It will work out. You will see."

" _Maika_ —" His voice caught in his throat as those very worries clawed to get out and spill over. What if he cocked it all up? What if they were fated, but they loathed each other? What if their souls called out to each other, but their minds were at a crossroads? What if her heart had already been spoken for? What if she dismissed it out of hand?

Her hand cupped his face. "It will be fine," she repeated. "I've read the winds and talked to the leaves. They all portend the same things. Happiness. Joy. Success. _Love._ "

Something eased in his mind. The winds were sometimes a bit too optimistic, but the leaves were always honest if you could get them to speak to you. If they had said so, surely they could not be false.

"Am I not too young for this? Can I not wait a little longer?" he pled, knowing even as he did so that it was futile.

"You will do the ritual tonight just as every Krum has the Samhain they turned of age. It's fruitless to think you can avoid it. Be strong as you always are and face it head on. It is your fear that is speaking, not your brave heart."

Suddenly, the wind swept through the halls, the lights extinguishing all at once as the fire at the hearth roared, licks of flame snapping out and up. The hare, which had been strung up by its back legs and hung from the rafters, suddenly broke free and kicked through the air as it bounded out the window, though it had been dead since the early morning when his father brought it in. In its wake a path of golden dust twinkled in the light.

The family, which had fallen silent, burst into cheers at the auspicious sign.

"A clear, definite sign," Tseveta breathed next to him. "Last time it happened, the way was not nearly as clear."

"A very good omen," his mother agreed, gently pulling him forward by the arm until he started to move of his own accord toward the exit like the rest of his family.

It was time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or in which Hermione has a Very Strange Dream.

Really, the entire mess was because of the shepherd's pie.

If she hadn't had been so invested in sitting by it, then she wouldn't have sat by Ginny. If she hadn't been sitting by Ginny, then she wouldn't have asked about Viktor Krum (who everyone seemed rather worked up about due to his recent Wranky—Wronky—Wonky?—manoeuvre). If Ginny hadn't slapped a magazine down in front of her and instructed her to read it under threat of death, then Hermione never would have gotten such a good look at him, which meant that her brain wouldn't have somehow decided to feature him in her dreams.

So, like she said. This strange situation was because of the shepherd's pie. Well, and Ginny.

"You know," she said idly, staring at the world renowned athlete, who was standing next to her by the dusky shore of a lake with a very...particular expression on his face, "it's very peculiar that my mind has decided to commit to this so thoroughly. You really do look exactly as you appeared in the magazine."

Dream Krum, who was standing a few metres away from her with the air of someone who had found himself in a situation that he wasn't sure how to navigate, looked rather nonplussed.

"The magazine?" He echoed, his voice a nice, lightly accented timbre.

"Yeah. You know, the Quidditch magazine. The one Ginny—" She stopped herself mid-sentence. "Why am I explaining things to what amounts to myself? You are, of course, part of my subconscious, so obviously you know precisely what I'm talking about."

Dream Krum shifted on his feet, looking out across the nice lake that was tinted with the golden light of the distantly descending sun. Expression cycling through different versions of conflicted, he finally met her eyes as he answered her with the tone of one who wasn't sure how their words would be received. "I'm not truly part of your dream. I'm Viktor Krum."

"I know who you are. It was in the magazine." She rolled her eyes, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. "You're not telling me anything new, which is a typical dream response. My brain can't tell something I don't know.

Dark, velvet brown eyes narrowed at her response. "No," he said a bit more insistently, "I'm _actually_ Viktor Krum."

Exasperated, she crossed her arms. "I'm sure you believe that, but I'm telling you—wait, why am I even arguing with myself? Believe what you want, Dream Krum. You're just a figment of my imagination."

Dream Krum took a step towards her, his eyes locking on hers even as he invaded her space and caught up her hand.

Wow, her subconscious was certainly forward, wasn't it? Was this a sign that she was needing more human connection? This thing with the Time-Turner really was preventing her from connecting with her friends as much these days. Actually, taking that to its logical conclusion, could this vivid unusual dream even be a side effect?

"—do to convince you that I'm actually who I say I am?" Dream Krum was saying when she surfaced from her hypothesizing, looking soulfully into her eyes.

She leveled him with a look that would make Ron quail. "No matter how accurate you look to what I saw flying around the pages of the magazine this evening, I'm telling you that I know that you're not real, and nothing can convince me. Not even the nice hand holding."

The warm clasp of his hand around hers tightened. "You like it?"

"I mean, what with the Time-Turner thing playing out, I hardly get to _talk_ to anyone let alone hug anyone. It's rather nice to touch someone else," she admitted.

His hand spasmed. "The _what?"_ He croaked.

"The Time-Turner. You know. The one we got so we could take twelve classes."

Viktor peered into her eyes as if she were slightly demented. Which was fair, she supposed, given her decision. " _Whyever_ would you do that?"

"Oh, you know," she said flippantly, her knowledge that this was a dream with no repercussions freeing her to say things she wouldn't normally say, "I have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge which is probably rooted in a deep-seated need to prove myself as a Muggleborn witch. Something like that, anyways."

He didn't seem to know quite what to say to that, settling at last on an eloquent, "Ah."

"Anyways, Dream Viktor—"

"I'm _not_ part of your dream."

He really was stubborn, wasn't he? "If you aren't, then how did you get here, hm? Dream walking isn't really a _thing_ , you know." She paused, considering. "Well, at least I don't think it is."

Dream Viktor shook his head. "It is. Have you heard of astral projection?"

Oh, interesting. "You mean removing yourself from your body to walk on the spiritual plane? I've heard a lot about Indo-Americans from North America and even the Romany in Western Europe doing so with great success," she said enthusiastically.

"In my family," he said slowly, "the males of the line have a gift that allows us to do the same, but only to a certain person."

Well, what was the point of that? She frowned. "That seems rather inefficient."

Beginning to look a little frustrated, Dream Viktor sighed. "That's not the point. We can dream walk, but only to our soulmates." He looked at her significantly.

Right. Okay. This was definitely one of her stranger dreams.

"Honestly, what in Merlin's name was in the shepherd's pie last night?" she pondered. "Perhaps one of the boys put a jinx on it?" A thought occurred to her. "I'll just bet it was Fred and George. That explains why they were late—they were probably messing with the dishes!"

"Who? They're not involved in this at all, and neither is your dinner. I'm telling you," he said slowly, like he was talking to a particularly idiotic person, "that I'm your soulmate, and you're thinking you have food poisoning?"

She shrugged. "Not good poisoning—jinxing, most likely. I don't typically dream at all, and when I do, it's usually rather abstract, so this, er... _thing_ ," she waved a hand to encompass their entire situation, "makes me think that something happened last night to cause this dream."

He ran a hand over his hair, his features growing a little pinched. "Yes, something did happen. It was the Samhain ritual my family conducted that helped connect me to you in this dream. _That_ is what happened. Nothing involving jinxing or shepherd's pie, whatever that is."

Her resulting skeptical look was not lost on him, and he frowned, dark eyebrows slashing across his face. "What must I do to convince you that I am real, and here?" he asked, beginning to sound a smidge desperate and a little frustrated. "Shall I send you a letter telling you what happened?"

"Why would I tell you my name and address so you could do that?" she asked with some asperity. "If this was real—which I am not conceding, mind you—I don't know you from a stranger."

Actually, now that she was thinking about this, if he _was_ really dream walking or astral projecting, or whatever he wanted to label it, wasn't that an invasion of privacy? Supposed soul mate or not, she wanted a say in who came into her dreams and mucked about. He was, as she said, a stranger, and Hermione was not easily one to trust.

But, really, that entire train of thought was just a thought exercise. She refused to think this was real until she found more information about this supposed family ritual he was talking about, and if in fact dream walking was possible outside of the established ethnic groups.

At that point, the dreamscape began to fade, the golden light growing dim and the sweet fall scent turning faint as Viktor faded from sight.

"I'll see you again," he promised as he disappeared, "and I'll prove to you that I'm real, once and for all."

And then he was gone.

The familiar red fabric of the drapes around her bed greeted her when she opened her eyes. Shifting to lie on her back, she remained motionless for a long moment, the events of her dream strangely clear and crisp.

" _Hm_." She said to herself, then said it again for good measure as her mind raced. "Hm. _That_ was most certainly interesting."

She needed to do some research.

When Hermione went down to breakfast, she slid a speculative look over at Ginny. "Gin," she told her friend, "you're never going to guess what happened last night. By the way, did you eat any of the shepherd's pie?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am very surprised about the amount of interest 1200 words can generate. But, uh, hope you enjoyed this as much as I liked writing it! Also,
> 
> -Meanwhile, in Bulgaria-
> 
> Viktor, with dawning realization: and I even forgot to ask her name!
> 
> Tseveta: ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you my idiot cousin?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or in which Viktor is harassed by everyone (including the tea leaves)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Note on Durmstrang:
> 
> All my research about Durmstrang (of which there is not a substantial amount of information) mentioned that it was more military oriented and that it was most likely based in either Sweden or Norway. For the purpose of this story, Durmstrang is in Sweden and instead of houses there are battalions, with smaller groupings underneath. It functions in some aspects similar to militaries.

"Hey Dream Boy," Tseveta called down the corridor at Durmstrang with a malicious wiggle of her eyebrows a full month and a half later.

Viktor closed his eyes and begged for patience. "For the last time, will you stop calling me that?"

"What?" His stupid, moronic cousin asked. "Dream Boy? It's only the truth, my dear, sweet Viktor."

She was still chuckling at herself as he accidentally (and with great prejudice) shot a jinx her way. Deflecting it with ease, she sauntered down the corridor away from him, her blonde hair rippling behind her.

Had she really only said hello just to harass him?

Yes, he thought, watching her vanish around a corner, yes she had.

Next to him, Nikolai sighed wistfully. "I'm going to marry that girl one day."

Idiots. He was surrounded by idiots.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Viktor said, "Nikolai, you wanted to kill her last week."

His best friend sniffed. "That was last week. This is this week. I'm a grown man who has seen the error of his ways."

"You're a moron is what you are. She'll hex you in your sleep and claim it was a prank."

If possible, Nikolai's expression grew even dopier. "But what a way to go."

Viktor sighed again, feeling extremely put upon. "Let's just go to Divination."

Hopefully this time he would get a different reading than the one he had been getting _every_ reading since the beginning of October: a cross for trials and suffering and a sun for happiness.

"I certainly don't _feel_ happy," he grumbled, idly constructing a plan to accidentally knock his teacup off his desk.

"Are you still whinging about your tea leaves?" Nikolai asked as they crossed the snow covered courtyard. "It's been two months, Viktor. Get over it. The tea leaves are going say what they're going say, and nothing you do is going to change that."

"Easy for you to say," he shot back. "My soul mate thinks I am literally a figment of her imagination, Tseveta keeps taunting me and the tea leaves are in on it, and I _still_ can't figure out how to astral project so I can connect to my soul mate, whose name I _still_ don't know."

Nikolai affected a long suffering expression. "My name is Viktor Krum and my life is _so_ difficult," he mocked him.

In response, Viktor shoved him. His best friend, who had truly been sympathetic to his plight and was likely trying to pull him out of his funk, laughed before shoving him right back.

Moments later, a handful of snow, aided by Viktor's wandless levitation spell, found itself neatly deposited on the dark haired boy's head.

The resulting outraged yowl made Viktor's lips curl, but his momentary self-congratulation was cut short when Nikolai threw a snowball directly into his face.

Needless to say, they didn't make it to Divination on time.

In fact, they were so busy hurling snow at each other with deadly accuracy they failed to notice Professor Strömberg's arrival at the scene of the crime until it was too late.

One moment they were laughing, Viktor summoning a huge pile of snow from a nearby tree and Nikolai building a wall to hide behind, and the next they were suspended in air completely upside down.

"What, exactly, is going on here?" The Dueling teacher, who was known for his cruelty and loyalty to Karkaroff's rather brutal disciplinarian measures, asked in a soft, menacing tone.

All feelings of laughter fled Viktor in a rush, leaving only dread. Nothing he said would help them escape what was likely coming, and they'd be left patching each other up in the Fourth Battalion's common room yet again, so he kept quiet.

Nikolai, whose face had closed down, becoming flat and opaque, appeared to be of the same mind and chose to remain silent.

When it became apparent neither of them would offer any explanation, Professor Strömberg hit his wand against his thigh several times, always an ominous sign. "Two delinquent cadets," he drawled, "out and about causing mayhem when they should be in class. Not to mention that you are willfully disrespecting the chain of command by refusing to answer me. Two stiff infractions indeed. I suppose I shall just have to take you in hand myself until you apologize for your misdeeds."

He raised his wand, an instrument used more to inflict cruelty using the very dueling techniques he taught them than to demonstrate proper technique at all, and began casting.

o-O-o

Steffan, captain of the Fourth Battalion's Quidditch team and second in command of the Fourth Battalion, found Viktor sitting stiffly in front of the fireplace, an open tome beside him detailing the methods of astral projection.

"I heard you got caught by Strömberg today," the older wizard said in greeting, his tone crisp. "And right before a match, too."

"Nikolai was trying to help me blow off steam," Viktor replied, trying to shift the blame onto himself. He could get away with more because of his heritage and star status than Nikolai, who was of impeccable lineage but less fame. "I was feeling stressed."

"Because of the match?"

Despite what many thought, Viktor had higher priorities than Quidditch, but he wasn't exactly going to broadcast that, especially since his uncanny skill with the broom garnered him a lot of leeway in Durmstrang's ironclad hierarchy.

"Something like that," he hedged, refraining from glancing down at the book beside him. "I've got a lot on my mind."

Steffan shifted on his feet, the heels of his boots clicking on the stone floor. "I know you're not concerned about our upcoming match—" the Second Battalion, often referred to as the Näcks, were absolute rubbish at Quidditch "—then perhaps the Bulgarian qualifiers for the World Cup?"

He thought of the burgundy robes hanging on the chair by his bed and of the newly minted Firebolt, given to the team only last week, carefully underneath his bed. "There's a lot on my mind," he repeated, skirting any hard truths.

Steffan looked at him for a long moment. "Whatever is going on, don't let it affect your performance or behaviour again. Karkaroff is watching you. He's got something planned for you, but I don't know what."

Coming from Steffan, that warning was unexpected. The older wizard was normally completely straight laced and by the book. Whatever Karkaroff had in store for him must be worrying his compatriot indeed, which was doubly worrying to Viktor. "Do you have any idea of what it could be?"

The other boy grimaced, running a hand over his stern, angular face. "I'm unsure. I heard something about a ship? But that makes hardly any sense."

Viktor frowned. "If they've come up with something else for us to endure…"

They both fell silent at the thought. It didn't bear thinking about. The swift turn for rather draconian punishments that the school had taken under Karkaroff's guidance had caused many students to either leave or be pulled from the school in a slow trickle. Those that remained suffered with little recourse but to band together.

Rikard, who was one of the toughest of the Fourth Brigade, had been left in the frozen lake at the mercy of the Hulda lurking in its depth for hours just last week for a minor infraction. His cries had woken the rest of his year mates every night since, to the point that Ivan had rummaged up some Dreamless Sleep somewhere.

Briefly, Steffan gripped his shoulder. "Try not to do it again in so public a place as a courtyard," he told him. "It's too early in the year for something like that."

He nodded shortly thereafter retired for the night, still sore from his time under Strömberg's...tutelage. As soon as he slid between the sheets, he was asleep.

Some indeterminate time later when he became aware again, he was by a lake, the golden light of the setting sun casting everything in shadows.

His heart leapt at the familiar sight and then began to pound. Mother had been right. The connection, once established, would cause them to dream no matter his skill at astral projecting.

The sound of feet crunching on leaves behind him heralded the arrival of his star, who had dismissed him so out of hand last time. Although he was exhausted, he swore to himself he would do better this time. Because he had been so ineloquent in the face of her shining brilliance the last time, he had thought over and over about what he'd say when he next saw her.

This time, he wouldn't let her get all the talking in. This time, he'd prove once and for all that she wasn't just dreaming him up.

This time, he'd prove that she was his.

Turning to face her, he drank her in. His brilliant, stubborn witch was looking a little the worse for wear, with dark circles painted under her eyes. Probably the Time-Turner, he thought. Using it like she was would drain even the most powerful of wizards.

"Oh," she said curiously, "it's you again. And it's this place again. Hm. Intriguing. Well, at least it's not another strange nightmare about an escaped convict murdering Harry. I see enough of those kinds of horrible thoughts in the _Prophet._ "

Seriously, he had thought Durmstrang was bad, but whatever was going on at Hogwarts seemed infinitely worse.

"A _what?_ " he asked before catching himself. No, _no._ He was not going to get sucked into that vortex of insanity before he got some good, basic things established.

Like her name. A motivated wizard (which he most certainly was), could do a lot with a name.

She looked at him with a jaundiced eye. "Are we going to do this whole song and dance again where you pretend you don't know what's going on even though you're part of me?"

Viktor stared at her and mentally revised his estimation of her intelligence down. Or perhaps she was more tired than she seemed, which was also likely. "Has it occurred to you that the reason I don't know things is because I'm still, in fact, not actually part of your imagination?"

"My research didn't indicate that that could be possible." She arched a brow. "I didn't find any accounts of successful astral projection outside of the groups I mentioned last time, though there's extensive literature on how it could be accomplished in theory."

"And yet here I am," he replied, spreading his arms out. "Viktor Krum, Bulgarian wizard and Dumstrang student, at your service."

"Don't forget international heartthrob and ace quidditch player," she said mildly, her eyes sharp but amused.

He waved it away. "That, too. But most importantly, your soul mate."

Almost idly, she tapped a finger against her mouth. "Does that line work on girls a lot?"

His head jerked back. "Line?"

"Yeah. You know, like 'Am I dead, because I'm seeing an angel' or, perhaps most appropriately, 'Do you remember me? Because I've only met you in my dreams'. That kind of thing."

Taking a minute to parse through that, Viktor finally landed halfway between horrified and amused. "No. No, that is definitely not what is happening. What has happened, and I will reiterate for your elucidation—"

"—Nice vocabulary."

"—is that the Krum family did a ritual at Samhain that each son undergoes," he pressed on over her interjection, "at which point the familial magic casts to find the perfect match and then connects their souls. Afterwards, they share dreams frequently."

"So you're saying," she responded skeptically, "that the Krum family magic scoured the world and selected me, one Hermione Jane Granger, muggleborn know-it-all swot, as your perfect match."

Hermione Jane Granger.

He resisted the urge to pump his hand in victory. Got her.

Instead, he replied, "I am saying exactly that, yes."

"That's a load of rubbish," she said definitively, crossing her arms. "There is no way that I am a perfect match for you. You're….athletic," she said the word like she had smelled something bad, "and I'm not. You're certainly not interested in the things I'm interested in."

"You're making an awful lot of assumptions, Miss Granger," he returned, taking a step forward. "Just because I'm athletic, as you put it, doesn't mean I'm not intellectually inclined. That is a prime example of stereotyping, and I won't stand for it."

For the first time, she appeared taken aback. "You—I—" she opened her mouth and closed it several times, at a loss for words.

"You're right," she admitted finally. "That was unfair of me. But even though that is the case, I still struggle to believe that this is actually happening and why I would be the one picked for you. It seems beyond the realm of possibility."

"Humour me," he said flatly. "I can guarantee you that you won't have any issues believing me in the next few days."

He had her name, and he had the considerable resources of the Krum family behind him.

As soon as he did some digging and got her direction, Hermione Granger wouldn't know what hit her.

The courtship had officially begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are pretty tough right now for me and for us all, I think. I read this like five times and don't have time to OCD redo it and edit like usual, so here it is. I hope you guys like it and it makes you smile. We could all use some of that right now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or in which Hermione experiences quite a few surprises (and isn't sure if they're good)

"What," Hermione asked faintly, "is _that_?"

 _That_ was an absolutely enormous bird of some kind, most certainly not an owl, wheeling through the Great Hall with great intent. Its large, cinnamon-coloured wings beat in a quick backstroke before it landed right between her and her plate of eggs and beans.

Dark, intelligent eyes looked at her appraisingly, and a moment later it stuck out its foot, as if deigning to give her the parcel attached to it after having approved of her. Carefully, she took the parcel and fed it a ration of bacon, after which point the giant bird launched itself back into the air and disappeared without any fuss.

Upon further inspection, she discovered the parcel actually consisted of a letter and a smaller box bundled together. Casting a curious glance at the package, she picked up the letter and tried to think of what she could have ordered or who she would be expecting a letter from other than her parents, but nobody came to mind.

Next to her, Harry stirred from his half-awake slouch. "Anything interesting?"

As her eyes fell on the sender's direction carefully inscribed in slanted, neat script, her mouth abruptly went very, very dry.

It couldn't be.

"Uh," she managed, "I, er—it's my, um, my penpal!"

"From _Bulgaria_?" asked Ginny, who was peering over at the direction Hermione had just goggled at.

"Yes!" Slamming the letter facedown on the table to prevent Ginny from seeing who, exactly, it appeared to be from, she said, "I, uh, I'm interested in the…the native culture! Yes, the native culture of Bulgaria. So I, well—you know."

She waved a hand descriptively, hoping others would fill in the blanks and that it was too early for them to tell her usual ability to pull a lie out of thin air was still two cups of tea and a slice of toast away.

'Bulgaria?" Ron mumbled around a mouthful of sausage. "Nuffin' good comes out 'f there 'cept Vi'or Krum."

Hermione choked, then coughed. "Right. Viktor. The Quidditch player, isn't he?" she asked casually, sliding the letter towards her as stealthily as she could and putting it in her pocket to read later.

Ginny stared at her so long Hermione started to feel distinctly uncomfortable. "Sometimes I wonder if you live under a rock," the redhead finally told her seriously.

"Not under a rock," Hermione corrected. "In the library."

Ron, who had finally swallowed his unhealthily large bite of sausage, put in, " _Everyone_ knows about Viktor Krum. I mean, it's _Viktor Krum_."

Wasn't it ever.

Apparently Viktor Krum was determined to haunt her every moment, from walking in her dreams to ruining her breakfast. Now that he'd gotten brought up again everyone was going to rehash the same conversation. Viktor Krum was good at this. Viktor Krum was good at that. Viktor Krum was very dishy, yes Lavender, that's a great point, but have you _seen_ his barrel roll?

Viktor, Viktor, Viktor.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the parcel sitting in front of her. If he hadn't sent it to her, she could've been in and out in a few minutes before firmly ensconcing herself in the library so she could focus on studying for the Charms practical they had that afternoon. But _no_ , he had to send her a gift—

Her train of thought suddenly came to an abrupt and rather horrifying stop.

He had sent her a gift.

Her _dream boy_ had sent her a gift.

Her dream boy...was not a dream at all.

"Oh bollocks," she whispered.

Next to her Harry shot upright, looking suddenly alarmed. "You all right there?" He asked. "I don't think I've heard you curse…well, ever."

"Well, Harry," she said snippily as her mind scrambled to restructure some of her basic understandings of magic, "there's a first time for everything, isn't there? And close your mouth—you'll catch flies."

"Ah, Miss Granger." She turned around at the greeting and was faced with the smiling visage of Headmaster Dumbledore. "Just the witch I've been looking for."

" _Me,_ sir?" She asked in surprise. He generally only ever talked to her after she had saved Harry from whatever horrible thing was trying to maim or kill him.

He nodded. "You've a visitor here to see you."

A visitor? Who—no, it couldn't be. But honestly, who _else_ would it be?

Irritation shoved through her veins. First he kept appearing in her dreams without her permission like some kind of gothic romance character, then he sent her a letter and a package she had to explain away while subsequently having to listen to everyone say how great he was, and now he had the _gall to show up at her school_?

Just who did he think he was?

"If he thinks he can just come here uninvited and think that I'll drop everything to see him, then he has another thing coming. I have plans. Plans that include the library, the section on defensive charms, and the overstuffed chair by the window, and not a single one of these plans include anyone else." She tossed her hair behind her shoulder.

Ron frowned. "Not even us?"

"Not even you, Ronald. You'll have to finish your essay on your own. I've had enough of idiotic boys thinking they can just show up and expect me to drop everything." She huffed. "Really, he's got some nerve, hasn't he?"

The Headmaster, who had been listening the entire time, smiled while his eyes twinkled. "I think there's been some misunderstanding," he said gently. "The visitor in question is mostly certainly not a _he_. In fact, they're a temporary stand-in for Professor Trelawny, who has had to take a sudden leave of absence due embarking on a vision quest that she was told to partake in during a recent dream."

"Her, too?" Hermione threw her napkin on the table as she swiped up the parcel and put the troublesome thing in the pocket next to the letter. "What is it with dreams not being dreams? Can't people just get a good night's sleep around here?" She sighed. "Best just to get this over with."

It was only as she was striding through the corridor on her way to Headmaster Dumbledore's office that she realised she had, perhaps, not been as respectful of Dumbledore as she should have been due to her irritation with Viktor.

"Sir," she said contritely, "my behaviour...I'm not sure there's an acceptable explanation for it, but I wanted to apologise."

"There's no need for that, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said kindly. "What with the burden of your classes, and...other things...I am not surprised you might be feeling a little out of sorts."

She sighed, absentmindedly touching the Time-Turner tucked neatly underneath her shirt. "It is a lot, sir, but I'm really so very grateful for the chance you all have given me. I promise I'm not wasting it."

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore peered down at her through his spectacles as they passed through the door to his office, "I can assure you that you are the last witch I would think of to squander the opportunity. Now, let us turn to the matter at hand."

The matter at hand, it seemed, was the witch standing with her back to them as she looked out the window. All Hermione could see of her at first glance was her deep auburn hair, which was elegantly arranged in some kind of half updo while the remainder fell in a shining sheet to her mid-back, and bright, grass green robes trimmed with fur at the bottom.

At the sound of their approach, however, she turned, and Hermione was met with the sight of a gracefully middle aged witch attired in high waisted honey-coloured trousers and a simple, silk white shirt.

" _Mila_ ," she greeted Hermione warmly, striding forward and taking her by the shoulders as she bussed her on both cheeks. "It is so _very_ good to see you!"

Hermione was frozen in place, taken aback by intimate greeting from the strange witch. Somewhat stiffly, she took a step back. "Hello, ma'am."

"Ah." The witch shook her head with a rueful expression. "I'm sorry for being so familiar. Please, forgive an old woman for her eccentricities. I was just so very excited to meet you, you see."

Her striking brown eyes, which seemed….familiar somehow….sparkled with mischief even as she apologised, and Hermione had the feeling she had orchestrated that entire greeting on purpose.

"It's...nice to meet you as well?" She hazarded, floundering as she tried to figure out who, exactly the witch was and where she had seen eyes like hers before.

"If you'll allow me to ease the way, perhaps?" Dumbledore inserted himself into the conversation. "Madam, may I present Miss Granger, the top student of her year. Miss Granger, this is our temporary substitute for Professor Trelawny, here all the way from Bulgaria, if you can believe it."

Even as Dumbledore seemed absurdly pleased, Hermione's breakfast turned to lead in her stomach as the witch's gleaming eyes met her own.

She knew those eyes. In fact, she had seen them only a few days ago—

"It is certainly an honour to be able to call Madam Krum, who is a foremost expert in the craft of Divination, a member of our staff, even if temporarily. Truly, it was serendipitous indeed that she sent me an owl a mere day before Sybil notified me of her upcoming absence! It was almost like fate intervened."

"How fortuitous," she said faintly as the pieces slotted into place. Those eyes were Viktor's eyes. Or rather, his eyes were hers.

It seemed Viktor's mum had come to visit.

"Isn't it rather." Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "It seemed Madam Krum knew of you already—she mentioned you in her correspondence as a close friend of her son's, 'a part of the family', I believe she said—so I figured who else would be better to show her around than you?"

A close family friend? Hermione looked around, trying to see if this was some kind of joke. But no, it all seemed incredibly, unfortunately real, and Dumbledore was looking at her expectantly right along with Madam Krum so she tried for a smile and replied, painfully, "I would be delighted."

"Wonderful." Dumbledore's benevolent smile notched up another level, and he said, "I'll leave you in Miss Granger's wonderful hands."

"Thank you so much, Albus." Milena turned a dazzling smile upon the Headmaster, and Hermione privately though there were too many smiles occurring in front of her when all she felt inside was an incipient and rapidly rising panic.

Dreams didn't just...have real life consequences like this. Dream boys didn't just _send their mums across the continent,_ except apparently hers did, and here she was, and Hermione was wondering if the whole world had gone sideways.

"I do so look forward to seeing the castle through your eyes, my dear." Madam Krum, the Bulgarian mother of the international quidditch star, the witch who was casually linking their arms as if they were long time acquaintances, told her. "I place myself squarely in your hands."

Her smile gleamed and her eyes were sharp.

Hermione swallowed and squared her shoulders. Famous diviner or not, Hermione would show the older witch she was not someone who could be pushed about by her _or_ her son, surprise visits or not.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to note this story is complete balderdash that I enjoy writing when I take breaks from working on Hunting Shadows (right now I am rewriting large swathes of chapter 23, which is apparently aiming to be a never-ending chapter), and thus has no set posting schedule except for "I finished it, I edited it for flow, and my alpha reader gave it the comedy seal of approval".
> 
> Aka pls don't anticipate quick updates like this frequently lmao :)
> 
> That being said, hope you enjoy this melodramatic ridiculousness!

When Viktor had envisioned 'all of the family's considerable resources', he had not meant his _mother going to Hogwarts_.

"I know you may be a little displeased with me—"

"A _little?"_

"—but when I read the stars, my involvement provided the best outcome."

"I don't care if Lady Magic herself came into existence and spoke to you personally!" He shouted at the fireplace, where his mother's visage was currently etched into the hot coals.

She was completely unrepentant. "The stars told me, Viktor. The _stars_."

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "You have got to be kidding me. Mother, the stars are one of the least reliable instruments. You've told me they're notoriously inconsistent to use as a predictive tool."

"Most of the time." Casually, she shrugged a shoulder. "But Viktor, darling, you forget—I'm Milena Krum."

"Yes, I _know_ that," he snapped. "You're one of the foremost diviners in the world. But that doesn't mean you can't be wrong! And besides, I don't think Hermione places much stock in these kinds of things."

Milena made a considering face. "She did seem to be a bit dubious about Divination when we spoke. What did she call it? Ah, that's right—I think the word she used was mundane."

Viktor groaned.

"Have no fear," his infuriating, meddling, troublesome mother continued cheerfully, "once I get the Divination curriculum whipped into shape she'll see the error of her ways!"

Just when he thought he couldn't get any more horrified, he was proven wrong. "Curriculum? As in, teaching curriculum?"

"Ah, yes." Her expression turned vaguely guilty. "I may have, hrm, taken over that role for the semester. The stars foretold of her imminent departure and I just knew it was a calling to take her place!"

"So you just went to Hogwarts?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Well," she hedged, "I may have sent a letter first offering my services, but I followed shortly thereafter. Very shortly. And just like I was told when I read the numbers that morning during breakfast, Dumbledore was quite happy to see me. Ergo, I am now a welcome and valued member of the Hogwarts staff who can aid your star on her way to finding you." Her tone was triumphant.

"Absolutely not!" Viktor wanted to reach through and shake his mother. While she could be impetuous and flighty at times, she always had the best of intentions with her actions. But this...this was his life, and his star—his _only_ star, his fated one—and he didn't want any meddling.

"This is between me and Hermione," he told her, "and I don't want you involved in any way. Couldn't you just leave and go back to Bulgaria? Don't you have other work you should be doing? Fulfilling our family obligations, or, or," he cast about for something else, "consulting work?"

"Oh, Nevena is perfectly capable of seeing to my duties for a few months," Milena said airily. "It's why we've paid her an enormous salary for the last thirty years to be our retainer. Besides, Calista has become more confident as she's gotten her feet under her, so I think she'll be fine handling the things that Nevena can't."

Viktor thought Calista, his brother's wife of a few years, had fewer brain cells than a flabberghasted leech, but if his mother said she was capable, then he trusted her. After all, Viktor didn't particularly understand the society-minded witch, so it could be he was underestimating her skills.

"Regardless of their capabilities," he said, "I find it hard to believe that you've simply gone on vacation from the familial duties. The house will be rather upset."

"The house has survived my absence before and it will most certainly do so again," his mother told him, unconcerned.

"The last time you were gone longer than a week, the kitchen disappeared, the piano wouldn't stop playing a funeral elegy, and all the fireplaces stopped working. I don't know if I would call that surviving—I for one would not like to experience that again!"

"It will all work out, I'm sure of it," his mother said firmly. "Trust me, Viktor. I know what I'm doing."

o-O-o

" _You."_ Hermione Granger poked a very angry finger in his chest, her hair literally crackling she was so irritated. "How _dare_ you send your mother to spy on me!"

"Hello to you too," he responded, taking a hold of her hand and kissing the top of her extremely pointy, bony finger that was likely going to leave a bruise. "How was your day?"

She seethed with anger as he failed to rise to the bait, and he wondered if her hair would actually electrocute him if he touched it.

Eh, best not test that one.

"My _day_?" she asked. " _My day?_ Let's just put it like this: if I have to hear one more thing about how great you are or be around one more person who discusses you, I'll—I'll-"

Greatly entertained, he asked, "You'll…?"

The jinx she shot at him point blank was extremely unpleasant but not, he thought as he stared at the perpetually dusky sky, completely unwarranted. "Ow."

"Drat," he heard her murmur. "Now I'm having a stirring of conscience."

Moments later he and her hair, which was slightly less terrifying looking, loomed over at him. "Don't be such a baby," she snapped even as she ran her eyes over him and held out a hand to pull him to his feet. "It was a class one jinx."

He rubbed his chest. "Shot point blank. But—" he held up a hand to forestall any further arguing, "it doesn't matter. Look, about my mother—she went on her own without telling me. I floo-called her today when my brother told me she'd given all her work to my sister-in-law, and she admitted it." Wryly, he said, "I yelled. A lot."

Hermione jabbed her hand into her pocket. "So you _didn't_ send her?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm rather mad myself. I'm not going to send my _mother_ to do my work for me."

"Well," she said tartly, "that's one point in your favour. But Viktor?"

She took something out of her pocket and slapped it into his hand. "Try again. Oh, and stop sending me letters with your direction on them. Actually, stop sending me letters full stop. _That_ would be something I enjoyed most thoroughly _._ Thank you and goodbye."

With that, she disappeared, leaving him with his first courting gift (which the much-beloved A _Pureblood's Guide to Courting Right_ had recommended) sitting heavily in his hand.

"Would you stop _doing that_?" he yelled at the empty air, frustrated that she kept disappearing without letting him get a word in edgewise. Obviously it was to no effect since she had _already left_ , and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "All I wanted to do was talk. Is that really too much to ask?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or in which Viktor's gifts get a cold reception.

When Hermione woke up, the weight of Viktor's gift still pressed against her hand, which meant she hadn't given the bloody thing back last night after all. "If I ever see him in person," she growled, "I'm going to chuck this at his big, stupid head."

"Um...Hermione?" Parvati asked hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

"And more importantly, who is _he_?" Lavender came up to the side of her bed, her eyes gleaming. "Are you seeing someone?"

"No!" Her reflexive shout made both of the girls step back, and she repeated in a more modulated tone, "No, I'm not. I'm just...frustrated. Is all. At a friend. I'm frustrated at a friend."

"Oh." Lavender looked unaccountably disappointed.

Unfortunately, Parvati looked vaguely interested. "What for?"

She couldn't very well say _because the courting gift was incredibly idiotic and not the slightest bit well thought out._ "Er," she thought for a moment, then grasped onto something that would get Parvati going, "he said that the use of stars on divination is antithetical and that they should be left to astronomers only."

Parvati looked as if she'd been mortally wounded. "He—he _what_?"

"I _know_ ," Hermione agreed with a malicious kind of glee.

"What an uneducated peasant," Lavender sniffed. "Clearly he hasn't had the good fortune of working with someone as exalted as Madam Trelawney or Madam Krum." The way she spoke their names was reminiscent of a worshipper at the altar of their god.

Parvati nodded, her dark hair slipping over her shoulders. "I mean—Madam _Krum_. Can you believe Professor Trelawney knew her and got her to come teach us while undertaking that vision quest? Truly, we don't deserve her."

Hermione was hard pressed to think of any sort of positive addition to the topic now that it was covering a subject she had begun to think of as complete hogwash. It also didn't help that Milena Krum, who was most certainly a true believer in the art, was also a meddling witch out to stalk Hermione.

Everywhere she looked, Milena Krum was there. In the Great Hall? Just walked in. Walking down the corridor? She had just turned the corner. In the library? What a coincidence! So was she!

Hermione was _convinced_ Viktor's mother was stalking her. She just _knew_ it, just like Professor Krum had _just known_ that Hermione would get an E on her Transfiguration homework because the _stupid tea leaves_ were in a muddled heap at the bottom of her tea cup.

If the woman could come up with random observations and mystical _knowings_ , then so could Hermione. Ergo: stalking.

It was too much to be coincidence.

"Don't you dare laugh at me, Ronald Bilius Weasley," she hissed as the redhead snickered next to her.

"You won't even walk down the hall without that look on your face." He made an expression that resembled a terrified grindylow. " _Is Professor Krum here?_ " He mimicked her. " _Quick, let's go down the other hall so she doesn't see me!_ You're mental if you think a Professor is following you around, 'Mione. They don't do things like that."

"She is!" She insisted.

"If you say so," Harry said companionably. "It could be she has to do most of the same things you do. I've heard everyone has to eat, after all."

Ron's snickers became full out laughs at that, and Harry grinned.

Hermione hoisted her book bag higher on her shoulder. "I'm glad my problem is all fun and games to you two. We'll see who's laughing then when you ask me for help with your homework, hm?"

Ron's laughter abruptly stopped and he began to look a bit panicked himself. "Wait, you don't really mean that, do you?"

She didn't deign to respond, instead stalking off.

"Wait! Did you mean it?"

"Of course I did," she muttered. "Maybe I've got a good use for Viktor's gift after all: a projectile meant to be thrown at infantile boys."

The gift in question had, at first blush, been nothing to write home about. When she unwrapped it, she almost hadn't recognized what the strange, metal object was. It almost looked like the handle of an old bell or part of an ornately shaped table leg. However, it was flat on one end, and she realized as she turned the short piece of metal over in her hand that it was a seal made to be used with wax.

Her initial surprise and satisfaction with such a useful gift was cut short when she realized that the imprint was _HK_. At first, she had been blissfully confused by whatever the two initials could be, but Viktor's letter had helped clear _that_ problem up extremely quickly.

_My Dear Hermione,_

_I was very glad to finally learn your name, as it allowed me to piece together enough information about you to send you this letter proving that our connection is real and tangible, not something out of a dream._

_Please let me formally introduce myself: my name is Viktor Krum, and I am your soulmate._

_I know that this may seem like an ambitious claim, but as I mentioned before, my family has been given the gift of finding our_ sŭdbonosna zvezda _, or fated star, during the Samhain in the year that we attain our majority. As I recently turned seventeen, I underwent the ritual, at which point I connected with you._

_This connection, like it or not, will persist throughout our lives. I was very nervous to forge such a link with someone I most likely wouldn't know because I have witnessed both wild successes and heartbreaking failures. While I ultimately had no choice in the matter, I was pleasantly surprised when I met you that first night, and our subsequent meeting only convinced me that I would like to get to know you better._

_I included a gift that I hope you might find useful at some point in the future, if things end up as I hope they do. Of course, that will be far, far in the future. Years in the future, far past when we're comfortably out of school. But I would be glad if you kept it as a symbol of my sincerity and the seriousness of my pursuit._

_For now—friends?_

_Yours,_

_Viktor_

The letter had sent her up one wall and down the other. She started at shocked, moved on to flabbergasted, paused for a minute on warm and pleasant, and finally arrived at incensed as she realized what he was implying in his last paragraph.

The wax seal was for when she was _Hermione Krum_.

"I'm fourteen years old!" She had yelled at the letter, crumpling it up and throwing it in the bin. "What kind of lunacy is this. Soulmates? Samhain? _Marriage?_ I can't even decide what kind of quill I prefer and he's—he's—he's proposing! To me of all people!"

Needless to say, she had intended on giving him that stupid wax seal back as fast as she could, but since their dreamscape bridge connection _thing_ apparently didn't include the exchange of material goods, she would simply have to settle for mailing it back. After all, it wasn't like she could just show up and give it to him.

Wait.

Thoughtfully, she weighed the wax seal in her hand and peered down the corridor, waiting to see the lean, well-dressed figure of Madam Krum skulking about as she swanned her way to wherever she was going.

It was time to go on a little walk and have an...accidental encounter. Given that Madam Krum seemed so fond of them, Hermione only thought it fair that she spring herself on the unsuspecting witch when she least expected it.

It was only fair, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the shenanigans continue!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or, in which Viktor gets some advice (some of which he asked for, and some which he did not).

Viktor had often been grateful for the compact two way mirrors the family used for communication, but this was not one of those times.

"—the tact of a goblin!" his mother exclaimed, her cheeks flushed. "Have you even _talked_ to her?"

"Of course I have!" he said defensively.

"About what? The weather? Because you certainly haven't learned anything at all from your conversations with her, it seems."

His mouth worked as he thought about their conversations, and he felt a flush crawl up his face and the tips of his ears as he discovered that he...well. She might be onto something.

His mother rolled her eyes as she watched the realisation wash over his face. "What am I to do with you?" She asked, exasperated. "Brevity may be the soul of wit, Vitya, but not in situations like this!"

"I'm doing my best!" He defended himself. "I never wanted this—never asked for it—"

"It doesn't matter what you wanted or asked for," she interrupted sharply. "All that matters is what is happening _now_. The past is done with and the situation remains the same, no matter what you wish. Talk to the girl and listen to what she says. And for Merlin's sake, Viktor, don't send her courting items that intimate marriage!" She huffed. "No wonder she was furious. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous."

And with that, the mirror went dark.

"That wasn't particularly helpful," he muttered, frowning. He had hoped she would have some insights, but all she'd had were judgmental looks and recriminations. He didn't call her for a lecture. Heaven knew he got enough of those when he was at home.

It seemed his first overture was a massive bust, but it was what _A Pureblood's Guide to Courting Right_ recommended, and he was determined to do things right to show he respected and valued her. He couldn't bear to have a repeat of his parents' marriage, a spectre that haunted him when he closed his eyes at night.

He turned a knob on the side of the mirror until the edges glowed amethyst, indicating he'd attuned it to Kosta's mirror, and activated the mirror. Moments later, his brother's face appeared.

"Viktor?" he asked with a frown. "Is everything all right?"

"Can't I call you to say hello?"

Kosta raised a brow. "Have you ever done so before?"

Maybe not. "Once or twice," he hedged.

Kosta rolled his eyes. "Just tell me what you want, _malük brat_ **.** You're a terrible liar, did you know that?"

Viktor ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not _lying_ , I'm—okay, I'm lying. I want to get something from the family vaults."

"Ah. A courting gift?"

"How did you know?"

Kosta shrugged. "You're not the only one who went through this, you know. I had to court Calista, too, the same as you."

Viktor remembered that, vaguely. Kosta had been a bear that year, prickly and short-tempered as he'd run around doing things that hadn't made much sense to anyone, let alone his little brother. Idly, Viktor wondered if that was what he looked like to those not involved in the absolute insanity he was in.

"Right," he said slowly. "Any advice?"

His elder brother looked heavenward. "Is the sky falling? Have I been cursed to hear the opposite of what is being said? I can't believe that the great celebrity Viktor Krum is asking me, regular old Kosta, for advice."

"Shut up," Viktor snapped. "As if you're not famous on your own." Kosta had published three groundbreaking papers on runic warding in the last year alone, having been called _a wizard unparalleled in the subject_ since he was still at Durmstrang for his uncanny ability to link runes and charm work together.

"I'm boring. You're not. Oh no, you couldn't just follow the rest of the family into mostly obscure, academic fame: you had to make your own path, flashier and bigger."

"Quidditch is a viable career path," he retorted, his hand gripping his thigh as the old argument threatened to make his temper rise. "Look, I'll figure this out on my own. Forget I said anything."

As he went to cut the connection, Kosta raised a hand. "No, wait. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone down this path. You wanted advice on your girl? Get to know her, listen to what she says, and do whatever she asks."

"The last thing she asked for," Viktor sighed, "was for me to never contact her again. For some reason everything I say or do is offensive somehow."

Kosta shrugged. "Women. Either that, or you're just an idiot."

That...was not helpful. "So...the vault?"

"As someone who has used baubles and jewels to claw my way back into Calista's good graces, I can understand your approach."

In response, Viktor held up _A Pureblood's Guide to Courting Right_ , and Kosta's eyebrows winged up. "Ah. That, too. Gone traditional, have you?"

"What else was I to do? She's British **.** You know how uptight and rigid they are about things like this."

Kosta made a face. "Fair enough. They are rather...traditional. So what do you want to get from the vault?"

He thought for a long moment about the contents of the family's vaults, which he had never paid much attention to when they went. After all, it wasn't like _he_ would be interested in things like jewelry and the like. "Hm…" he hesitated. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I don't have a good handle on what we have that might suit."

"Great-Grandfather Piero had a compact mirror he liked to carry around and use," Kosta said slowly, thinking. "It would compliment him every time he opened it. Perhaps that might be a useful gift, if you've managed to bollocks it up?"

Viktor thought of Hermione, her eyes flashing and expression absolutely irate as she'd returned his wax seal and snarled, _stop sending me letters full stop,_ and nodded. "That sounds good, and I think it'll fit the book's dictates. But Kosta—she loathes me. I don't know if anything can help me, but I don't think things can't get much worse. I hope it will help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: malük bra = little brother  
> Credit where it is due: Shakespeare penned "Brevity is the soul of wit". I just used it to throw shade at Vitya.
> 
> A/N: I needed a palette cleanser from some stuff I'm writing, so here we are. Damn is that stuff intense. Anyway, Happy New Year, all! I hope we all have a better year than the one we had.
> 
> Meanwhile, earlier that week at Hogwarts:
> 
> Hermione: I'm sure you foresaw in your teacup this morning what I'm going to give to you.
> 
> Milena: No, actually, I—
> 
> Hermione: Here. *shoves wax seal at her* I don't want to talk about it. Ask him. *flounces away*


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione receives yet another gift, and it goes about as well as you would expect.

Using the Time-Turner was beginning to wear on Hermione. She liked her classes very well (although she personally thought Divination was mostly a waste of time, as she didn't see how leaves and bones and tea and the like could provide accurate predictions about anything) but the pace was gruelling. Honestly, she would be glad for the break that Christmas allowed her, but that was weeks away.

Yawning, she made her way back up to Gryffindor's common room, her bag feeling as though it were full of lead and her mind spinning with all the information she'd gathered. _Gantt's Theory of intransmutable objects states that—_

"Ah, Miss Granger!"

Hermione stopped in her tracks, one foot raised in mid-air as she prepared to go up another stair, and sighed. It was Madam Krum.

Plastering a smile on her face, she turned. "Hello, Professor. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Always so formal!" Her arch-nemesis's mother waved her hand dismissively. "How many times must I tell you to call me Milena?"

"I just don't think it's proper," she demurred. "You're my profesor."

"Ah, but I'm not _only_ your Professor, am I?" One of her eyelids dropped in a conspiratorial wink.

She shifted. "I'm not quite sure what you're talking about."

Milena laughed, the sound reverberating up and down the empty corridor. "Don't be silly. Of course you do. That's why you asked me to return his gift, after all." There was no need to elaborate on who the _he_ in question was.

"Look, Professor, at the risk of sounding rude, I'm very tired and would like to go to bed. It's been a long day."

Immediately, Professor Krum nodded. "Of course, of course." She seemed as though she were debating whether to say something else or not, and finally said, "Have a good evening."

"You as well."

Hm. That had been a strange, rather useless conversation. Or perhaps there had been a point to it, and she was simply too tired to understand the undertones, if there had been any.

Exhaustion at the forefront of her mind, she fairly fell into bed and was grateful to find that her dreams were empty of any interfering Krums, as she had spent far too much time thinking about them when she was awake.

o-O-o

The next few days proved unseasonably warm, enough so that Hermione was able to bundle up and take her books with her outside to work by the far end of the lake during one of her uses of the Time-Turner. The castle was feeling rather oppressive these days, and she was grateful for the reprieve.

Fortunately, nobody was there to watch her yell at the giant not-owl-maybe-hawk-bird- _thing_ that she had seen a week or so earlier when it dropped off Viktor's parcel. "Go _away_!" She yelled, flapping her arms at it. "Whatever it is, I don't _want it_!"

The bird looked at her disdainfully as it descended, its cinnamon wings glinting in the light of the weak winter sun, and dropped another parcel, slightly larger than the last, at her feet.

"Bloody hell," she muttered, looking at the square box and attached letter. "This whole thing is going to send me to an early grave."

She wondered if she could simply just chuck the entire lot into the lake, but the manners her mother instilled in her stayed her hand and she was left staring balefully at the delivery.

"Fine. Best to deal with it now and get it out of the way."

She tore the package open and pulled out a thin, fairly flat fob. At first, she thought it was a pocket watch, but when she opened it she realized it was a mirror.

Great. As if she didn't already know how thin and worn she was beginning to look, she now had a portable method with which to examine herself.

" _Dio!"_ She nearly dropped the thing in shock as a voice came from it. " _Faccia de culo_!"

Hermione had no idea what the mirror was saying, but its tone said plenty. She snapped the offending item shut. "Wonderful. A mirror that insults my appearance. _Precisely_ what I need."

She glared down at the letter on the ground by her leg and picked it up, unfolding it and scanning its contents.

" _...I hope this gift makes up for the previous, as it was never my intent to upset you. I hope the mirror, a family heirloom, conveys my sentiments toward your appearance since I cannot be there to say them myself. My Great-Grandfather Piero was particularly fond of this mirror, himself, and used it often."_

Why on _earth_ would anyone like a mirror that insulted them? That seemed rather stupid.

Resentfully, she looked at the mirror. She couldn't even throw it in the lake, which would be very satisfying indeed, because it was an heirloom and her conscience wouldn't let her do something like that.

At least she could show it to Ginny for a laugh before she shoved it in a drawer and forgot about it. A moment later, she pursed her lips and hefted it in her hand. Actually, maybe it would be a good paper weight.

Well, she thought pragmatically, only so long as she spelled it shut. If it opened in the library...she shuddered at the the thought. Madam Pince would have her head.

Hm. Maybe it was best suited for the drawer after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: Faccia de culo, I have been reliably informed by google, means "your face looks like your bottom."
> 
> Notes: 
> 
> the Krum family: the gift that keeps on giving (bad gifts)
> 
> Happy new year, all! thank you all so much for coming along on this wild journey with me. I've loved each and every review and interaction I've had with you all. Here's to hoping there's more fic, more fun, and more laughs in 2021.


	9. Chapter 9

"I don't know if you are being purposefully obtuse or willfully idiotic," was the first thing Hermione said to him when she showed up by the shore of the lake in the dreamscape he was beginning to think of as theirs, "but for Merlin's sake, I hope it's purely accidental that you keep sending me horrible gifts."

He sighed, his heart sinking into his stomach. "I take it you disliked the mirror."

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "It insulted me! I was going to simply stick it in a drawer because it was useless, but Ginny convinced me to a least try to use it as a paperweight or something of the sort, so I took it with me to potions. I had the poor luck that my partner knocked it off the table — Neville has always been clumsy — at which point it got knocked open. Then, of course, it took to shouting at me again, quite _loudly_ and in front of all the Slytherins."

She pressed her lips together, her cheekbones high with colour. Stiffly, she continued, "I did not appreciate Blaise Zabini of all people remarking that I must be rather ugly indeed if an enchanted mirror, which are traditionally spelled only to say compliments, would only say things like, _your face looks like your bottom_ or that _your mother must have been a pig_."

Viktor was going to kill Kosta. "I...I don't know what to say."

"Did you even open it?" she asked, exasperated.

He had, actually. "It...well, it told me I had a..." His cheeks flamed. He couldn't say it.

"A…."

"A nice arse," he blurted out.

She reared back, her eyes wide, then collapsed into laughter. "And you thought _that_ was also appropriate?"

"In my defense, it also said it liked my hair and that I looked ready to seize the day. And!" he scrambled to add, "It was my brother's suggestion."

"So it's his fault, is it?" Hermione commented dryly, crossing her arms. "You're really something else, aren't you?"

He bowed at the waist, misery creeping through him. "I have tried so hard to show that I respect you, but it seems as though I insult you or displease you at every turn. Please," he swallowed, "I only wish to get along with you. I wish to be your friend and your partner, if you will let me."

For a long time, she looked at him, her expression inscrutable. "If you'd like that," she said finally, "stop sending me gifts that don't mean anything. Talk to me instead, and stop assuming what I'll like or dislike. I'm not sure what I want from you, if anything—" he flinched at that, "but I am willing to speak with you like this if you'll stop acting and start listening."

Listening. It was such a little concept, something that he did all the time, but it appeared it was one thing he had not done well at all with the person that mattered most.

"I can do that." He would do anything to get her to give him a chance.

"Good." Neatly, she folded herself into a cross legged position on a large, flat rock that jutted out over the water. Even as she patted the spot next to her invitingly, her eyes were wary and distrustful. "Tell me about your family."

"My family?" he asked as he joined her, resting his weight on his hands as he let his legs lie straight before him. It was cold, here, he thought. Soon enough, it would be too cold to be pleasant, and he hoped that they would be able to find or at least conjure something warmer in this dreamscape they found themselves in.

She nodded. "You had mentioned that this happens to all your family members, I think, back when this all began, so...your family. Tell me."

Making a thoughtful noise, he looked out over the lake, which appeared black in the light of the perennially setting sun with the exception of the far edge, where it was various shades of pinks and oranges. "I have a mother and a father and a brother. Mother is, as you're well aware, a celebrated Master Diviner while Father is a renowned Master Potioneer and my brother Kosta is a—"

"Wait, your brother is Kosta?" Hermione cut him off, her eyes glittering with...was that excitement? "As in, Kosta Krum, who wrote that seminal treatise on runic warding?"

"You...know of him?"

Hermione fairly bounced in her seat. "I've read his works! The library at Hogwarts keeps them. I may only be in my third year, and so a lot of it was over my head, but from what I could understand, he's _brilliant_."

Of course. Trust the world to pair him with a girl that was more awed by academic brilliance than anything else. He was smart as well, that was true, but his passions trended towards the more physical applications of magic, such as duelling and quidditch.

"I'll tell him that you're a fan of his work," he offered at last, unsure where the rock sitting in his gut was coming from.

"Would you? That would be wonderful." She reached over and gave him a quick hug, which set his entire being to fizzing. "Do you think...do you think he'd accept an owl from me?"

An owl? When Viktor couldn't even get her to have a conversation with him? Damn, he should've sucked it up and specialised in alchemy or something.

"You're family," he managed eventually, his voice sounding shockingly normal for someone who suddenly had the urge to commit fratricide. "Of course he will."

"Excellent. Just excellent." She was grinning from ear to ear, and he found himself returning her smile. "Now, I know you're from Bulgaria—that magazine article Ginny made me read said so. Are you in school there?"

"No," he shook his head. "I attend Durmstrang, same as my brother."

"Isn't that only open to the northern European students?" she asked. "Of course, it's not public knowledge where it is, but it's rumoured its up north and they only accept those in the surrounding countries."

"That's somewhat true," he allowed, "but they also take in students from abroad as well, provided they can pass some additional exams and pay the full tuition."

Just as Hermione opened her mouth to ask another question, a particularly stiff wind slammed into them, the gust of frigid winter air making her shiver. Ruefully, she smiled at him as he took off his jumper and handed it to her. "Thanks. It's a bit colder in here than it is in Scotland, which I really didn't think possible."

The sight of her shrugging into his favourite jumper momentarily struck him dumb. It dwarfed her, the sleeves falling far past her hands, and he had never seen anything more adorable in his entire life. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah." She bit her lip for a moment. "Thanks for this. Actually, can you conjure a glass jar, a big one?"

"A glass jar? Whatever for?"

For the first time, she smiled. "It's a surprise. You'll see."

Jar successfully created, he handed it over and watched as she pointed her wand tip inside. His eyebrows rose as blue flames danced off the tip and sank to the bottom of the jar. Even from here, he could feel the heat. "What spell is this?"

A diffident shrug. "Oh, just something I made awhile back. The best part is that they're pretty durable. I have to cancel the spell for them to go out, so we'll have this even if it starts snowing. Handy, isn't it?"

Viktor looked at the blue flames incredulously. "Have you considered the various uses for this?"

Her brow scrunched. "Heat? Convenient fire?"

He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "No. Think bigger. Look, I really think you should consider patenting this—"

Someone was shaking him violently. "Viktor. Viktor, wake up."

Hermione vanished suddenly as he was jarred awake, his eyes opening on Nikolai's worried visage. "It's Karkaroff," his friend said, voice hushed. "He's called a meeting for all captains and majors."

"For our battalion?" he clarified, frowning as he quickly got dressed. "And why not any of the colonels? What about the major generals?" It was strange only to summon the fifth and sixth years but not any of the seventh years. Very strange.

Nikolai shrugged. "I'm not sure, but I think the summons is across all battalions."

"Let's _go_." Greta popped her head in, eyes narrow. "We can't be late."

As they hurried down the corridor, Viktor felt dread pooling inside him. What the hell was going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's me, back again with our two favourite morons as they figure out how to communicate like actual human beings. Shocking, I know.
> 
> I was going to come back to this after finishing the first arc of my epic Viktor/Hermione fic, Hunting Shadows, but I was inspired by a sudden spate of reviews, so thank you guys for pushing me to get back to this earlier than planned :) It's all due to you that this chapter got done more quickly than it was slated to.
> 
> That being said, please let me know what you think!


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